


i'm on tonight (my nips don't lie)

by elegantwings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent due to Sex Pollen, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Sex Pollen, Slight Canon Divergence, minor non-binary character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantwings/pseuds/elegantwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Stiles has always had sensitive nipples. When a friend in college suggests nipple piercings, he totally goes for it. Somehow this is what pushes him and Derek together, despite what happened between them the summer before he went away to school. The thing no one talks about, the thing that matters really a lot despite how much they pretend it doesn't. </p>
<p>Or, the fic that was supposed to be a pwp about Stiles getting nipple piercings and accidentally grew an angsty plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm on tonight (my nips don't lie)

**Author's Note:**

> oooh boy. Blame Eileen!!! the working title for this fic was: nipple backstory fiasco which explains it all, really. She encouraged me past a simple pwp about nippleplay into this, and at least i'm not sorry. for the canon divergence: 1. everyone is alive 2. except ethan and aiden, they are very much not alive 3. stiles never had sex with malia because that is a consent issue i don't even want to touch. and as for consent, i am labeling this as dub/con because Stiles and Derek are under the influence of sex pollen at one point and the fact that they technically had sex against both of their wills is a major recurring issue.

The thing is, Stiles has always had sensitive nipples. Drag fabric across them the wrong way and he’ll squeal like a little kid, throw his hands up to cover himself, seconds away from curling into a protective ball. He’s mostly learned to control the urge, partly out of dignity, but mostly because Scott figured out pretty quick that all he had to do was get his little fingers around Stiles’ nipple and _twist_ and whatever he wanted was his for the taking. Being Scott, well, he didn’t use it for evil, but he didn’t exactly use it for good, either.

Whatever Scott figured out to get the upper hand in their playful competition was something any of the bullies and school would gladly use against Stiles with miserable consequences. So he learned to get over it and ice his chest later if necessary.

On the other hand, if Stiles touches his nipples the right way, the feeling goes straight to his dick. He can spend hours just gently rubbing the pads of his thumbs against them over and over again, a just barely-there touch, and by the time he puts his hands on his dick he can so hard he almost passed out. One time, he’s sure, he definitely passed out. He could probably come just from touching them, but he barely has the self-control to tease himself all day let alone resist touching his cock when he just feels so good.

When he has sex for the first time, with someone who knows what they’re doing, Aaron licks his tongue flat over Stiles’ left nipple and grazes his teeth back down the other way, casually, carelessly, like he’d done to Stiles’ collarbone and the ridges of his ribs. Stiles’ back bowed and he lifted off the bed, practically screaming, and he came a second later still in pleasure-shock, two of Aaron’s fingers inside him and his hand on his cock.

“That was…not what I was expecting,” Aaron had said, and before Stiles could apologize set to work on discovering exactly how to please “those sensitive little nubs” (his words, not Stiles’, god but it was hot somehow). And Stiles had come again, too soon after and begging for more.

Afterwards, they’d stood in front of the bathroom mirror so Aaron could show off his handy-work, how puffy and red Stiles’ nipples looked, still shiny-wet with spit. Stiles had to drive home shirtless, and every time he rolled over on his chest that night he’d wake up gasping. It felt too good, and too much, and he came way too many times the next two days, way too many. There was chafing. He had to fake a twisted ankle to explain the funny way he was walking.

Most of the time, though, Stiles makes do with the fleeting touch across his chest, because asking for fingers or a mouth on his nipples makes him too self-conscious, makes him feel feminine in an uncomfortable way. It’s not like all the sex he’s having is awful or anything. Far from it.

(Stiles is having a lot of sex in college, fuck you very much Beacon Hills).

***

The first time Stiles had sex, it was with Derek. They had barely even looked at each other because _neither_ of them knew what they were doing, out of their mind with some kind of star trek fanfic bullshit sex pollen that made them both hard and desperate, carelessly so. They weren’t the only ones dosed, but they were the only ones who managed to have sex with someone they previously had never even considered having sex with (this is Stiles’ story and he’s sticking to it.) Even Allison and Scott hooking up wasn’t a big deal, they weren’t together anymore but it wasn’t like they couldn’t get past it with an awkward laugh and limited interaction for a few weeks. No, but Stiles and Derek, that was weird, that was a little life-altering. That was summer before college, when Stiles was about to go to Berkley with an undefinded major and an undefinded life. And okay, he’d come to terms with it not mattering, but he was still a virgin. It had been close for a little with there, with Malia, with the way they’d gotten so close as they both re-learned how to be comfortable in their own skin and mind. Except Malia never did, not really, consumed with the death of her mother and sister, learning the identity of her true father and all that came with it. Nobody really blamed her when she disappeared back into the wild as a coyote. Even Scott, who seemed to think his ability as an alpha rested on Malia’s ability to return to “normal”, even Scott let her go.

With time, Stiles learned to let her go, too. But in the aftermath, with his cum drying down Derek’s thighs, he desperately wished for her back because that would have made sense, so much more sense than this.

He could have dealt with awkwardly avoiding Derek for a week or two or even, hell, a month, but what happened was so awful, so terrible, because they never talked about it, not once, not ever. The smell on them was obvious to the rest of the pack but no one uttered a single god damn word about it. They just looked at Stiles like they felt sorry for him, and they looked at Derek like they felt sorry for him, too.

Actually, Derek did say something about it, just once, right after. “I’m sorry that your first time had to be like this,” and Stiles didn’t have to be fluent in Derek to know that what he meant was, “I’m sorry I did this to you,” even though it wasn’t his fault. It was the fault of the hunters with comically faulty information about wolfsbane. It was Stiles’ fault, for whatever it was that still made Derek believe that he was the one who needed to be protected, the weak link, even though he’d learned to take care of himself, with our without his aluminum bat. Derek made it his goal to keep Stiles alive, and thanks to that, well. Half out of his mind with confusion and lust, he’d even managed to make sure that Stiles had been on top because no matter what happened Derek could heal. It made Stiles want to throw up, kick his life in the nuts, something.

So he didn’t think about it, and pushed it as far into the depths of his mind as he could, and re-wrote his first time as the time with Aaron, a glorious, eye-opening loss of virginity he could make a story out of. So technically he wasn’t lying when he told Aaron he wasn’t a virgin, and technically Aaron wasn’t lying when he said they would see each other again (they did, all over campus, where Aaron would wave and smile gorgeously and walk on), and it all worked out in the end because Stiles was in school for a degree and not relationships. Or something.

***

Stiles makes friends with half the campus lgbt group and no one is surprised. He learns a great deal about labels, and how important they can be after all, and feels gratified because he’s been arguing that they/them can be singular since birth. Another great thing about lgbt groups on college campuses is that they’re chock full of people who want to hook up. People who want to hook up with Stiles.

The best part of all is that after a few weeks his friendship with Mels and Tristan solidifies into true college bro-ship, although he switches to calling them his besties when Mels goes on a rant about specifically gendered language. They are a small part of a friend group much larger than Stiles is accustomed to, even compared to the pack at home (which isn’t all that large, all things considered.) Push comes to shove, Stiles would prefer to hang out with Mels and Tristan alone any day of the week, an arrangement that leads to a lot of TV and youtube and underage drinking.

It also leads to a morning where Tristan swears up and down that if he ever hears another thing about Stiles’ nipples and how great they feel in Target t-shirts he will drown Stiles in a community toilet, no further questions. Mels gets that look on their face, though, the one that means they’re plotting something. Throughout all of this, Stiles does not remember saying a word about his nipples, because that is some humiliating shit right there, and decides to drink less during weeknights.

He does not drink less during weeknights, and that’s how Mels convinces him this is a good idea.

“You know I got my nipples done a couple months ago,” Mels says casually one night, apparently done with pretending that they’re watching Glee. (They make fun of it. No one on earth has any idea how it’s even still on TV).

Tristan drops his head into his hands and groans, “What is it with the nipple fascination, oh my god.”

Stiles shrugs, “Yeah you mentioned it, why?” He already has a bad feeling about this.

Mels pulls their shirt up and Stiles fights the urge to look away respectfully, because they would eat him alive over something like that. “What do you think?”

They look like any other nipple piercings he’s seen in his life, plain silver rings. “Uh, good choice?” Stiles tries.  

“Hm,” they reply. “Well, they were finally healed enough to touch last night and I swear on my life the sensitivity has increased like a thousand percent. If your nipples are anything like you say, you need to get this done like, yesterday.”

Stiles swallows, trying to stall. “Uhm. I’m not really a fan of pain, or blood. Or like, talking about my nipples, despite what drunk me says.”

They drop their shirt and throw their hands up. “Let me know if I crossed a line and if I did I’m sorry, I just thought, you know, you’d like to know. For science.” Tristan is still groaning on the floor.

“No lines,” Stiles says, “And thanks, I guess, actually. That’s cool to know.”

“I would take Glee over this, I really would,” Tristan says, “Please let’s get back to watching Glee.”

The thought stays in Stiles head, though. Getting his nipples pierced. Yeah, he doesn’t like pain, but a part of him kind of really wants to know how the needle would feel, and then, after it’s healed, how the piercing itself would feel tugging at his sensitive skin.

He rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, thinking about it in great detail when he jerks off that night. Maybe, despite his initial inhibitions, nipple piercing is something he should look into.

Mels takes him to their piercer, a nice dude named Ted, who explains what to expect and aftercare in great detail (which Stiles knows all about already, in greater detail, because he’s read everything the internet has to offer, and he’s seen the pictures. Especially the infected pictures, eugh). Mels even offers to hold his hand, which he sticks his tongue out at. Then regrets, because they’re in a piercing studio and Mels is going to convince him to get his tongue pierced next, he can just tell from the look on their face.

He’s lightheaded with the pain of it for just a few moments, but later when he thinks back, it’s not that bad. It’s over fast, and he’s sore for a couple of days but it’s really not a big deal. There’s a few mornings where he flails out of a shirt and it gets caught on the piercings and it’s like his entire brain is being sucked out through his nipple in the worst way, but it’s all gonna be so worth it. Totally worth it. It had better fucking bet worth it, he swears after trips over the carpet in Mel’s apartment and lands front-first, his chest stuttering across the carpet.

On second thought, getting his nipples pierced a couple of weeks before finals was probably a terrible idea, because he has so much more to worry about than cleaning them out twice a day. But he remembers and does it dutifully, and besides, he always ends up jerking off afterward so he really can’t complain. Okay, so it still hurts, but it feels kind of good at the same time, and even though he can’t let himself touch them yet, he can feel them, acutely, in a way he didn’t before. He is totally getting off on this already. Mels gets a lot of free meals for a couple of weeks.

The downside, between finals and his healing piercings, is that by the time he’s settled home for the summer, he hasn’t gotten laid in for-fucking-ever and he’s all but gagging for it. It’s right around the time he can back off the ritual cleanings, thank god, and between his summer job and hanging out with the pack and trying to get laid, he manages to remember at least once a week to clean them out. But they look good, now that he’s used to them. He thinks, without too much pride, that they look like they belong there, and can’t figure out why he didn’t think of this on his own.

One of the first things he does is show Scott, who thinks it’s the coolest thing and is going to be complaining for weeks that he can’t get them. One of the second things they do, together, is try and see if Scott can fit a claw through them. Which sounded like a really funny idea at the time, and is not so funny when Scott can’t get it out at first, and it becomes really apparent that Stiles has just let someone put a an incredibly sharp _werewolf claw_ inside of his six week old nipple piercing. Something about being with Scott brings out the middle-schooler in him, after all.  It only takes a little bit of incredibly careful wigging and shifting before it comes out, but Stiles has to sit down after, and he considers breathing into a paperbag. Whether his nipples are iIncredibly sensitive or not, he just came really close to having one sliced open and that is just not something he’s ever going to think about ever again.

When he hooks up with Amy, he makes her wash her hands like six times and swear up and down to keep her mouth as far away from his nipples as possible, and be gentle for the love of god be gentle, but the result is something he wants to skywrite, holy Christ it feels so good. _Everyone get your nipples pierced right now_ across the Beacon Hills skyline.

July is hot as balls, a miserable unusually sticky heat. Stiles had convinced his dad it was a good idea to let him do office work at the station all summer, because after all last year he’d decided on a criminology major (another thing he should have figured out a lot sooner), and here he is, absolutely soaked with sweat on a Tuesday afternoon. It’s disgusting, and more importantly, you can definitely see his nipple rings through his t-shirt now.

His dad rolls his eyes and tells him he’d better not have spent school money on it, which Stiles did not thank you very much. Carla the desk officer winks at him on his way out, and he blows her a kiss because she’s been working there since he was a kid, somehow, despite the average life expectancy of a Beacon Hills cop.

***

They’re having a movie night at Derek’s house (which is neither a place he is squatting in nor his burnt down family home, personal growth!). Scott is at work, which sucks, but everyone else is there, arranged around on the couches. Derek has several, because their pack mostly consists of couples at this point who still insist on being infuriatingly lovey-dovey even after being together a billion years. (Erica and Boyd got married last year, and holy god, Stiles is still not over that.) Then of course there’s the bachelor couch for him and Derek, where they sit a respectful distance from each other and do not make eye contact, ever, especially not in the case of romantic comedies. In fact, in the case of romantic comedies, Stiles sits on the floor. Lydia, of course, has her own cushy chair, and Stiles has never been surprised about that at all.

So they’re watching the third and fourth Hunger Games back to back, because it’s summer and they can, and Stiles, being Stiles, tips a can of soda down his chest. He immediately pulls his shirt off and runs for the kitchen at the same time, just barely managing not to kill himself in the process, and he can practically hear Derek rolling his eyes when he follows him.

“You don’t have to supervise me,” Stiles snaps, his back to Derek while he wrings his shirt out in the sink He’s annoyed because one, there goes his soda, and two, the fizz is kinda stinging on his piercings, and three, he’s still as clumsy as ever and that still sucks.

“I was gonna offer to wash it for you,” Derek sounds clearly annoyed that Stiles is taking the attitude route, but whatever, Stiles doesn’t think he got anything on the couch, so. “And I need a paper towel for the couch.” Or not.

Stiles turns back around and shrugs, muttering a sorry, but whatever else Derek was gonna say dies on his lips as he stares at Stiles’ chest and fishmouths for a moment. “What?”

“Those are new,” Derek narrows his eyes slightly, and damn it, it looks like he’s judging all of Stiles’ life choices. “You didn’t have those the last time I saw you shirtless.”

Stiles is very, very careful about his public shirtlessness, has always been. “Yeah well it’s been three years since the beast with two backs in the woods, so…”

Derek pales at the mention, the breaking of their rule number one, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he says, “Last March, you were home for the weekend, you were bait for the omega and your shirt ripped off on a tree branch.”

And, wow. That fast, his annoyance is replaced by uncertainty. Why else would Derek remember that, so specifically, unless he’d specifically wanted to remember it. “Whatever, they’re new. About eight weeks. They feel fantastic, if you were wondering.”

Derek’s face goes from white to red, up his neck to his ears. “I wasn’t.” He’s still staring at Stiles’ chest.

Stiles drops his shirt in the sink, licks his lips purposefully, and uses his middle fingers to flick both rings and then give Derek the all powerful double bird. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”  

“Don’t tempt me,” Derek warns, and leaves without another word.

Stiles will swear until his death that he’s half-hard from the way the rings pull away and back, not at all from the way he’d realized what he’d mistaken for judgment had been, could only have been, that Derek wanted to touch Stiles’ new jewelry just as badly as Stiles wanted him to touch them.

***

So Stiles does the thing that makes sense, and stops by Derek’s house the next day. If there’s anything that college has taught him, it’s that things like this need to be talked about before you’re “accidentally” sucking your TA’s dick and praying to god it doesn’t reflect too well or too badly on your final grade. Plus, he and Tom didn’t have history like he and Derek have history. Stiles hopes he’ll never have history like that with anyone else, god, please. That’s just gonna make this worse, if they let it sit between them.

Stiles rings the bell, and he’s actually shocked that Derek doesn’t close it in his face. But then again, personal growth. He just lets Stiles in with a look on his face like he knows exactly what’s coming. The cat greets him at the door, too, winding her way around Stiles’ ankles and purring hello. He resists the urge to pick her up and cuddle, because he’s a man on a mission, and also he learned his lesson about letting claws anywhere near his nipples right now. He does bend down and scritch her ears and promise her all the loving if Derek doesn’t like eat him or something. In a bad way. He could continue that sentence but now Derek is standing over him and glaring, so Stiles stops babbling to the cat and follows him to the TV room.

“Do you have a nipple kink?” Stiles blurts out, sitting on the edge of the bachelor couch. Derek chokes on nothing while Stiles continues, kind of unable to stop now that he’s started, “I don’t remember you having a nipple kink, and trust me, I’d remember that, I have incredibly, like insanely sensitive nipples, oh my god I didn’t mean to say that, I don’t say that to anyone-“

“Please stop,” Derek begs, looking sick. “Please, please stop.” Looking sick, but also, a little bit, like he wants to get all up on Stiles’ nipples.

“Well?” Stiles glares a little, trying to be intimidating and knowing it’s a fail, “Do you?”

Derek looks at his hands, where he’s nervously gripping his fingers, “It’s not a nipple kink, no.”

“Then what is it? What was up with last night, all of a sudden?”

Derek sighs, long and pained. “It’s not all of a sudden, either. It’s, um,” he laughs a little, uncomfortably. “It’s a Stiles kink.”

Oh god, Stiles thinks, this is a hell of a lot of personal growth that Stiles was not prepared for. “A Stiles kink?” he repeats, high-pitched with nerves.

“A Stiles kink,” Derek confirms, like the words are actually a terminal diagnosis. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, since, what happened, and, you don’t feel the same way.”

“I don’t feel the same way,” Stiles says, and even though he’s just repeating Derek again, Derek doesn’t know that, and his face falls, and Stiles feels something in his chest shudder. “No, wait, forget I said that. I wasn’t- I mean, how do you know I don’t feel that way? I don’t even know I don’t feel that way.”

“You don’t,” Derek says firmly, “I don’t need your pity.”

“Woah, again, slow down, who said anything about pity?”

“I know how sorry you felt for me afterwards, it was pretty obvious. I could smell it. You looked, everyone looked at me and thought the same thing. That this was just one more fucked up sex thing in my life, when it was really,” he starts to choke, a little, on his words, “It was you that got the shit end of the deal, getting stuck with me for something like that.”

Stiles wants so desperately to break the barrier between them and put his arm around Derek, but he’s afraid to get into his space. So instead he snaps his fingers in Derek’s face, rude as it is. “Hey. It was a terrible thing for both of us, okay? Nobody should ever be forced to have sex like that, even if they were already people that had sex together on a regular basis. Informed consent is key, okay? I never regretted that it was you, I just regret the situation, that’s all. And, I’m sorry if I made it seem otherwise.” Take that, Derek’s new found maturity. 

A little bit of relief crosses Derek’s features. “Me too.”

“So, um, about the Stiles kink,” Stiles starts.

“Don’t make me sorry for choosing honesty.”

“No, no, it’s just that, well, I kind of have a Derek kink.” Derek starts to say something, but Stiles holds his hand up. “And I definitely have a nipple kink. So I think, since our kinks are pretty compatible, we should put them together. And make better sex memories.” He nods once, like that seals the deal. “Okay, that’s all I had to say.”

“Maybe not right away,” Derek says after inching closer to Stiles, just a little, “But yeah. We could definitely do that.”

God help him, Stiles would wait six years or forever for Derek to be ready for this. “Good, glad we cleared that up. So, um, can I?” he makes a sort of up and down movement with his arm towards Derek’s shoulders, and Derek offers his hand instead, which Stiles gladly takes. He moves their hands so Derek’s is on top, and he watches the connection between them, his paler hand bright between Derek’s fingers. He thinks, without really meaning to, how much different this is than the last time they really touched, how his last memory of Derek’s fingers on his skin was a series of blunt scratches down his back, his arms, his sides. He thinks, maybe, he’s not good enough for this, to coax Derek the rest of the way out of his fears.

***

The hunters had thought the Beacon Hills pack was the alpha pack. It wasn’t the beginning or the end of their misinformation. They were arrogant, young, didn’t give a damn for the Argents who’d abandoned the code, or the inherent lack of logic in an alpha pack consisting primarily of 17 year old high school students.

When Boyd and Erica got dosed with the sex pollen first, Stiles had laughed, and laughed, for days, because really? Sex pollen? What possible means to an end could that have, other than baby werewolves, which seemed to be the opposite of what the hunters would want.

“It’s not technically a pollen, it’s a root,” Deaton had explained, “A powdered wolfsbane root, one that yes, induces a sexual frenzy. And it is very similar, almost identical, to a rare form that shuts down the respiratory system in minutes.”

Sex powder, sex pollen, so the hunters had fucked up, and after unsuccessfully suffocating Isaac, as well as Erica and Boyd again, they finally seemed to get the hint that they’d fucked up. So Allison with her hunter connections and Stiles with his stubbornness had gone with Scott and Derek to meet with them at the preserve, because negotiating inside was so last year. The others had spread out as backup, just in case. Just in case the hunters decided a last ditch attack, like shooting at them, or for example more sex powder.

“Really?” Stiles had shouted, “Still with this crap?” Then he’d felt the buzz under his skin, faint at first, like pins and needles and warmth. Derek was already looking at him, coming closer, and the closer he got the more Stiles’ skin buzzed, warmer and warmer. He could feel Scott and Allison behind him, too, and oh god, this could be a nightmare, were his last real thoughts before he’d had Derek’s mouth on his and they were kissing, pulling each other’s clothes off. Like they’d been waiting for this moment too long, and the voice in Stiles’ head cried finally, finally.

He doesn’t know what happened to Scott and Allison, just that he stopped caring about anything but Derek’s thick cock against his own, about the way Derek shoved his fingers into Stiles mouth to get them sloppy wet so he could finger himself open. Stiles had fallen to his knees, too high to feel the rocks and branches, sucked Derek’s dick into his mouth, stroked him with one hand and replaced Derek’s fingers with his own. That’s when Derek’s somehow still human fingers had scratched all over Stiles for purchase, pulled Stiles’ hair so hard Stiles could have come just from that.

Derek’s come still on his lips, he’d pushed Derek down on his hands and knees and he’d pushed inside, too hard and too fast but he couldn’t stop himself when Derek was panting, “Yes, god, just do it, I’ll be fine, just do it,” and begging for Stiles’ cock in his ass. He was buzzed with that, too, with Derek begging Stiles to fuck him, and it competed with the drug, and later Stiles wouldn’t know which was more powerful.

Later, coming down but not free yet, Stiles had felt for Derek’s hole, wet with two loads of come, and fingered him fast and hard to another orgasm. Stiles had started to shake, then, when he’d realized he could feel Derek coming in long, hard clenches around his fingers, but he didn’t hear anything hit the leaves this time, just Derek’s soft cries.

They’d both collapsed, and Stiles had rolled over immediately, unable to stop the sobs, burying his face in the first soft fabric he could grab. And Derek, who he’d just fucking violated, let him sob, rubbing his back up and down with trembling hands. “I can’t take this back,” Stiles had hiccupped out, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek had said, and it was clear he was crying, too, and that made Stiles feel like his heart was drowning, “Just breathe. I knew you couldn’t hurt me, I’m sorry your first time had to be like this.”

And that was the actual last time they’d touched, except to save each other’s lives. Until now.

***

Some time passes in silence while they hold hands, Stiles isn’t sure how much. They’re both probably thinking the same thing, about their first time together and how much more badly things could go if they get together. Even if it took Stiles this much time to realize it, he wants it, it’s worth it to try, but Derek already looks so scared and unsure. Stiles squeezes his hand once and lets go. “If you really think this is a bad idea, I’ll understand.”

But Derek chases him back, lacing their fingers together again. “No. I think I- we can make up for what happened.” The cat chooses that exact moment to hop up onto Derek’s lap, meowing happily and bumping their joined hands.

“I think that’s the best vote of confidence we’re gonna get,” Stiles says.

“I think she’s probably just hungry,” Derek replies, smiling all the same.

A couple of days later, Derek takes Stiles out on a date. An actual date, to a really fancy restaurant that is just way too expensive a place to take your 20 year old boyfriend who is still in college. Stiles has to wear a suit, and it just happens to be the same suit he wore to Boyd and Erica’s wedding because he’s is, as mentioned, still in college. There’s even wine, which Derek actually drinks, despite knowing about as much about it as Stiles does.

As a comeback, Stiles packs a blanket and a six-pack, picks up Derek and drives him to 7-11 where they pick out a ton of junk food, and then he drives them both out to an abandoned field. He makes a big deal about shaking the blanket out and setting up their little picnic, and they lay back and look at the stars, occasionally tapping their bottles together before they drink.

No matter what kind of a date they go on, they end up wrapped up in each other, talking for hours, and kissing so much, so much more than Stiles ever has, even in his totally oversexed first two years of college. The bachelor couch becomes the Stiles and Derek couch (officially, because it definitely was already), and everyone is happier for it. It still has the coke stain, the one that started all of this.

Well, actually, it was Stiles’ nipples that started all of this.

***

There’s a good, long week left before Stiles has to go back to school. He’d talked his way into finishing up at the sheriff department a week early, mostly because he’d finished any of the serious business filing he’d had to do within the first week and everyone knew he was really bullshitting and listening in to the cop scanner most of the time. So nobody is all that surprised (not even his dad) when he packs up everything for his new apartment and takes an unofficial vacation at Derek’s house with the time he has left. And by vacation, he totally plans on sexcation.

They’d worked their way up to mutual orgasms over the past couple of weeks. Everything Stiles had ever done before had seemed different with Derek, new, even (especially) the things they’d done together before. It was ridiculous and cliché, but totally true, and Stiles was never gonna knock handjobs ever again. Not when it was Derek’s hands, and Derek’s cock.

But, fuck Stiles’ life, his nipples had been completely out of commission since around their third date, and before then Derek hadn’t done much more than look cautiously at the rings like they might bite, or escape Stiles chest and attach to his own forever. Stiles had been so sure that third date night was gonna be the night he was gonna show Derek the whole reason behind the piercing, and shame be damned he was gonna have Derek do whatever his heart desired to his chest. Just not with his mouth, yet, and as long as he washed his hands a lot first.

So Stiles had pulled his shirt off, and before he could say one word about it, Derek had wrinkled his nose and said, “You smell infected.” Oh shit, Stiles had thought, he was still supposed to be cleaning them regularly. And with Derek and the dating and everything, he’d kind of forgotten.

It was just the one side, though, thank god, and Stiles had taken the antibiotics and gone back to cleaning it when he was supposed to, and the doctor said he was lucky because he’d caught it so fast and blah blah blah long story short Derek looked at Stiles chest even more like it was carrying the plague. At least once a day he asked Stiles if he’d thought about taking them out, which was just ridiculous, because the doctor and a local piercer had said that would be just about the worst thing he could do for the infection. Derek, a doctor apparently, did not agree. “I’m just worried about your health,” he’d grumbled, and Stiles had replied he was more worried about the structural integrity of his nipples, thank you very much.

Stiles lets himself into Derek’s house (with the key, the key Derek had given him!!) and drops his duffel by the door, shouting, “You’re gonna get up on these nips today whether you like it or not!”

Derek doesn’t even look up from his book. “Nice to see you too, babe, how was packing?”

Stiles leans over Derek and plucks the book out of his hands. “Nope, we’re talking about unpacking, get with the program.”

“I’m not touching your nipples.” He tries to grab the book back, but Stiles skips backwards. “Seriously, give it back, I’m not touching your nipples, Stiles.” He rubs his forehead and sighs. “This a stupid conversation.”

“Say nipples again,” Stiles taunts from the bottom step. “I dare you.”  

“I have plenty of books.”

“Fine, I’ll just jerk it in your bed.”

“You know I don’t have a problem with that.” He’s pretending to be unaffected, but even from a few feet away Stiles can see he’s gone a bit unfocused, thinking about Stiles naked in his bed, on his hands and knees, rubbing precum into the sheets. Now Stiles is thinking about it, his dick is starting to throb and Derek’s resolve must give out at that because he walks to the staircase deliberately. “I don’t really trust you alone, is the problem.”

“Ha, fucking, ha,” Stiles bitches, closing the remaining space between them with a kiss. “C’mon, please,” he half-whispers into his mouth, “Derek, please, play with the rings.”

“What is it with you,” Derek asks, voice raw and deep, “That makes it so hard to say no?”

“Yes!” Stiles cheers, taking Derek’s hand so he can pull him up the stairs, “Hallelujah, today is the best day ever!” He stops in front of the bathroom and pushes Derek in, “Wash your hands, quick, I’ve been waiting too long for this.”

Stiles is spread out on the bed, stripped naked, his dick already painfully hard, shiny wet at the tip even though Derek hasn’t even touched him yet. He can see Derek’s dick jump as his eyes rake over Stiles, up and down, and again, as he sits back on his legs and just watches. “You really, really want me to do this.”

“I told you,” he can feel himself flush red all over, “I have a nipple kink, I wasn’t kidding. It just, it feels really good, okay? Like, really, really good.”

That’s all the resolve Derek seems to need, and he nods like he’s just given himself a pep talk (he probably has, honestly.) He pulls his shirt off and tosses it away, stretching out above Stiles and kissing him, resting on one hand while the other teases, fingers stroking around Stiles’ left pectoral, close but not too close to his nipple. Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth, hips jerking up, his dick rubbing against Derek’s jeans. “Why pants?” he complains, “Get naaaked.”

Derek looks at him, inches away, and raises his eyebrows. “I thought this was about you and your nipples.”

“Me and my nipples want to see your dick.” He inhales sharply, “Me and my nipples want your dick on my nipples, holy shit.”

“There’s a line, that was the line, no way in hell.” He finishes stripping while Stiles pouts. “The only fluids near those things should be fresh, clean water.”

The first touch is gentle, just Derek’s index finger lightly stroking down. “Close your eyes,” he says, “You’ll feel more.” But Stiles feels so much already, keening.

He’s nestled in the V of Derek’s body, his legs draped over Derek’s, and he can see how Derek’s gone from half-hard to fully from Stiles’ reaction. “Can’t,” he pants, “Too much already.” Derek nods, humming agreement, makes the same feather-light stroke over the other nipple. “God, fucking tease.” Derek agrees again, smirking. His other hand reaches up, tugging slightly. “Ohmygod, it goes straight to my dick,” Stiles babbles, “It’s like you’re actually touching my dick.” Every touch presses harder, has more intent than the next, and when Derek starts to lightly twist a ring back and forth, Stiles has to squeeze his eyes shut at how good it feels, digging his fingers into Derek’s leg. “Don’t ever stop,” he begs, “Do this for the rest of your life, become a professional, I’ll pay you, just, don’t ever stop.”

“I’ve never seen you this wet before,” Derek says, a little awed, “If you weren’t such an idiot about taking care of yourself, we could have done this weeks ago.” Stiles feels too good to even snark back. “Do you think you could come from this?”

“I’ve tried,” although admittedly, not that hard, “But I’m not exactly known for my patience, y’know?”

“Okay.” The room fills up with only the sound of Stiles fast breaths. “If you were by yourself, what would you do?”

Derek likes this, Stiles knows, watching him touch himself, pretend he doesn’t have an audience. He always wants Stiles to close his eyes, as if he could ever forget Derek is watching, like he’d be able to stop feeling that look burning him up from the outside.  “I would say fuck health and safety, and I’d lick my fingers and go to town.”

“Ugh,” Derek groans, “Fine, at least,” he lifts Stiles’ hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers in, gets them good and wet. “My spit’s cleaner than yours.”

Biting his lips, Stiles drags a trail from his lowest rib to circle around a nipple, harder than Derek’s touch, and he shudders with the feel of it, the smooth slide as he goes around again, and again. He holds the tip between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it around a couple of times, pulling it, hooking his pinky in the ring and stretching it out, letting it go. The little spark of pain makes it all that much better.  

 His dry hand reaches for his dick automatically and Derek stops him, folding their fingers together and stretching their arms above Stiles head. “Fuck,” he mutters, and starts kissing Stiles’ neck, somehow keeping their dicks from touching. He keeps kissing, licking down to the unoccupied side of Stiles’ chest, and he sucks the nipple in his mouth, ring and all.

“God,” Stiles whines, but it’s still not quite enough. He works himself harder, wiping up the trails of spit Derek’s leaving across his throat when his hand gets too dry. “Fuck, Derek, just like that, please.” His hips are thrusting hard now, and if he tried he couldn’t do anything about it. “God, I’m so close,” and he can feel it building, his balls drawing tighter. Derek moves his hand from where it had been digging bruises into Stiles’ hip, and when his fingernail just glides over the spit-slick nipple, Stiles comes between them, shouting and writhing.

It only takes a handful of strokes before Derek comes, angled down to cover Stiles’ belly. Then he sits back again, looking Stiles up and down. “I guess you can keep them,” he says with a wry grin, “They suit you.”

“Yeah, like you didn’t love every second of that.” Stiles half-heartedly smacks Derek’s side. “I’m gonna go shower before your gross werewolf spit makes my nipples fall off.”

“Because that would be the world’s greatest tragedy.” Derek gets up and follows him into the bathroom.

“No, but really, you didn’t hate it, right? I mean, heh, wow, was it good for you?” He closes his eyes and huffs a laugh, unable to believe he’d just actually said those words.

“Hey,” Derek cups Stiles’ face, brushing his thumb down the line of his jaw. “Of course it was. I never really cared one way or the other about body piercings, but it’s your body, and if you want them, I like them, and if you decide you want to take them out, I’ll like that, too. Whatever you want, if I’m having sex with you, it’s going to be better than good for me.” After a moment, he adds, “And I could see it was really, really good for you, so…”

“Ugh, shut up,” Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and kisses him, sucking his a little on his bottom lip for the way it always makes Derek moan.

“And another thing,” Stiles adds out of nowhere while they share a pizza that night, “I have a great new line of defense against anything and everything that wants me dead.”

“What?”

“I saw a friend’s nose stud nearly take someone’s eye out, it was totally epic, no idea what happened, but it just went flying,” he gestures an arc from his face towards Derek’s, “So if I’m ever in a pinch-“

“You’ll yank your piercing out and throw it in someone’s eye, really great planning, are you sure criminology is for you?”

Stiles’ hands fly up to cover his chest. “Just the thought, oh god ow.”

Derek takes a bite of pizza and shrugs, “If it ever happens, make sure you get video.”

“I hate you,” Stiles says, because it’s too soon to say what he really feels right now, looking forward to a week with just Derek so they can learn all the things about each other they’d missed before. “Although maybe not really,” he rubs his palm idly over his nipple, relishing the way it burns, well-used.

**Author's Note:**

> please direct all gifts and thank yous to Eileen @fullhale.tumblr.com because this is literally all her fault. things she offered as inspiration: a piercing hitting someone in the face, scott trying to fit his claw in stiles' nipple ring, stiles letting his piercings get infected, and "and uses his middle fingers to flick both rings and then give Derek the all powerful double bird" was lifted almost exactly from a message she sent me. credit where credit is due, this was her idea, i just ran with it. 
> 
> as usual Marina (dragoonthegreat.tumblr.com) is my beta and cheer coach and i would die without her lbr
> 
> the wolfsbane works on stiles because the hunters incorrectly believed they could make it deadly by giving it a magic boost. 
> 
> also Derek's cat is named Natasha if you were wondering, yes after black widow keep your opinions to yourself this was supposed to be a simple pwp /sobs
> 
> no nipples were harmed in the making of this fic (but some were definitely used as reference). the word nipple appears in this fic 47 times. and this is definitely the filthiest thing i have ever written in my life.
> 
> and if you're still reading this (bless you), seriously tell me if you think something is mislabeled or handled poorly. thanks for reading :)


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